Contractually Yours: An Arranged Marriage Romance (The Lasker Brothers Book 4)

Triumph fizzes in my blood like champagne bubbles. I shiver with excitement as Sebastian drives us home after a shower at the club. I didn’t see Vonnie in the locker room or the shower area. She was probably hiding, and she’s likely to stay away as long as possible until she realizes she’s broke.

I shoot a sidelong glance at Sebastian. He was amazing on the court. Coolly in control. The ball always went where he wanted it to go. That’s mad skill. And hot as hell.

Nothing’s sexier than a man who’s good at what he’s doing. Bonus points if he has the body of a Greek god, and an ass that could shame Apollo.

“We make a great team,” I say, running a hand through my unbound hair.

“Clearly. Winning teams are the best teams.” His voice is warm and rich. And maybe a bit indulgent.

I adore this side of him. It reminds me of our meeting in Paris, when he was so sweet to me.

If I were a little more romantic and idealistic, I might consider us soul mates. Still, what happened today gives me hope that our marriage, despite its rocky start, might progress well. There are relationships that are worse than ours, built on lies and selfish desires without giving anything back. I should know—two of my most significant relationships collapsed because of that. Even when they don’t crumble, like Mom and Roderick, they remain toxic, poisoning the couple and those around them. To this date, I wonder if Mom truly didn’t know about Roderick’s infidelity or if she just wanted to pretend she didn’t so she could keep him.

Sebastian speeds up, although not so fast that we get pulled over. We arrive home in no time. He drives past the gates, along the winding road through the lush garden and flowering lavender, and parks in front of the covered rotunda.

I climb out and wait for him to pop the trunk so I can grab my racket, but he takes my hand. I tilt my head, wondering what it’s about. Before I can say a word, his mouth is on mine, and his arms are wrapping around me.

He ravages my mouth like a victorious Viking taking what’s his. I tunnel my fingers into his silky hair and plunder him, too, the win still sizzling in my veins. Our lips are crushed, tongues reaching aggressively. He tastes so good, like confidence, elation and male.

His hands run along my sides, leaving goosebumps behind. I press into him and feel his erection against my lower belly. Electric shock crackles along my spine, reaching all the way to my clit, which starts to throb.

He picks me up, his mouth fused to mine, and moves us inside. Whenever he carries me so effortlessly, my hormones do cartwheels and I just want to burrow into him. When he has me in his arms and displays his strength, I feel protected…like it’s okay if I let my guard down a little, because he’s here for me.

“Your room or mine?” he says between uneven breaths.

“Whichever’s closest,” I rasp, unable to think. I start to pull away, but he only tightens his hold, cupping my ass harder.

My hands still in his hair, I tighten my legs around his waist. His body is hard with muscle, and he smells so good, all hot and masculine with a hint of the eucalyptus juniper body wash and shampoo we used at Tilden. I never thought the scent was sexy until he was wearing it. I bury my nose in the crook of his neck and inhale, shivering as need pulses through me.

He takes me up the stairs. If he means to torture me with barely there touches, he’s doing a great job. Every cell in my body is quivering with anticipation as he rubs against me with each step.

He doesn’t take us to one of bedrooms, but to a guest room, nearest the staircase. I rock against him, hating every layer of clothing between us. Although I did my best to appear cool and unaffected, I watched him work out in the gym on Friday. He moved effortlessly in ways that require a lot of strength and flexibility, and that can only come from years of consistent effort. And I saw the power and grace of his body again on the court.

I want to experience the muscularity and grandeur of his body without anything covering it.

He presses me against the wall by the door. His palm glides along my hip and thigh, then puts a gentle pressure until I lower the leg. I drop the other one, too, until I’m standing on my feet.

“Take off your clothes,” I order him breathlessly, my hand on his shoulder.

A look of light mischief crosses his face as he smiles. “Whatever my winner wants.”

Crossing his arms, he pulls his shirt up. The taut muscles along his sides and abs stand out, not an ounce of fat covering them. My mouth dries at the sight. His lats flare out as he pulls the shirt higher and throws it to the side unceremoniously.

“You should never work out with your shirt on,” I breathe out softly.

He laughs. The sound dies when I run my fingers along the grooves of his torso. My fingertips tingle as I trace the stunningly proportioned, masculine lines. He’s a work of art.

“You make François’s statues look…ordinary,” I whisper.

“Mmm.” His mouth is on the side of my neck, licking and nibbling. The touch is affectionate, although no less heated. He has the power to make me feel desired. The shivers that quiver along my body are just as hot as before, but sweeter now. I reach for the waistband of his shorts, slip my hands underneath and feel his taut butt. Even there, he’s perfect.

His lips still trailing kisses along the sensitive tendon on my neck, he gets rid of his shoes and socks, then drags his shorts and underwear down and kicks them off. Finally, he’s fully nude.

His cock juts out, the head almost grazing his abs. I extend my hand down to grab it, run the pad of my thumb along the tip, but he wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls me away.

“Later.” He slips a hand under my skirt. His fingers loop around the thin string of my thong. “Is this your favorite?” he asks, exerting pressure. If I say no, he’s going to rip it off.

“Yes,” I say, half honest, half bratty. I don’t care if he shreds it.

But he respects my response and pulls the underwear down my legs. “Step out.”

I do, then look at him, anticipation pulsing like the sweetest torture. He drops to his knees. He tilts his head, his dark eyes glitter with hot need, a corner of his mouth tipping upward. Pushing my skirt out of the way, he breathes over me.

My knees tremble, and I lock them, leaning against the wall behind me. Excitement sparks through me. He moves closer, raising one of my legs and throwing it over his thick shoulder, exposing me. My heart starts racing, and when he buries his face into me…

My back arches. The air shudders out of me, and I hold his head as his clever tongue and lips lick and suck, sending hot streaks of bliss from my core all the way to the tips of my toes and the top of my head. Every inch of me tingles.

He devours me. There’s no other way to describe the way he runs his tongue over me, uses his mouth on me. He laps me up, then growls when I can’t contain my moan.

His enthusiasm for the act drives me wild. Pleasure builds fast and hard, and before I even realize what’s happening, it crests, overwhelming all my defenses and inhibitions. I grip his hair hard, grinding against him shamelessly. My mouth is open, but nothing comes out, my vocal cords frozen, my lungs empty and paralyzed as an earthquake erupts inside my body.

I quiver with anticipation of a second round, but he pulls back a little and spreads me with his fingers until I’m completely open to his view. My face heats as vulnerability whips through me. I don’t know why I’m feeling shy when I just came all over his face moments ago.

He studies me for a moment, then lifts his heated gaze to look into my eyes. “My pretty wife.” His whisper rumbles over me like dark thunder. “So hot for me.”

My nerve endings crackle at his breath fanning over me, and my own breathing is still uneven. Keeping me completely spread open with his left hand, he kisses my thighs and gently rubs my clit at the same time with his right. I throw my head back and slowly move against his fingers, but every time I try to exert more pressure, he pulls back, leaving me panting at the edge.

I’m so wet, I can feel the slickness on the creases of my thighs. His hand must be a mess, but he doesn’t seem to care as he continues to tease.

“Look at your pussy quivering for more.” Dark, masculine satisfaction ripples through his words.

I try to rock against his hand, but he stops me by clenching my ass. “Damn it, Sebastian.”

“Beg,” he orders me, his eyes glittering with control and fire.

Embarrassment fleets over me. I’ve never begged. But then, I’ve never felt like I’d die if I didn’t feel a man’s tongue on me.

As though he can sense my hesitation, he runs his fingers along the fold from the clit all the way to the opening of my pussy, dipping a little inside. Pleasure courses through me, but it’s too mild to appease the needy monster inside.

I look down and see the stubbornness in his expression. My God. He’s going to do this until I give in. And I am going to die if he continues to torment me like this.

“Go down on me,” I choke out. “Please. Make me come with your mouth.”

“Good girl.” And then he’s on me again, like my begging has ripped all control and restraint away. Another orgasm swells, rips through me. Before I can come down from the high, he pushes me to a third.

My supporting leg buckles, and one large hand is instantly under my ass, holding me up. I fight for air, struggle for sanity. But he isn’t finished, because he’s sucking even harder as he pushes two fingers into my dripping, eager flesh.

When the fourth O slams into me, I hear a sharp scream that couldn’t have come from my throat. My vision goes black, then white. Fireworks seem to explode in my head, and my heart thunders. He’s on me like a man determined to torment and reward me at the same time. Even though he’s on his knees with his face buried between my legs, he is the absolute master of my body right now. And I’m responding to his slightest move with shivers and moans.

“Enough,” I beg shakily when he gives me a slow lick. “I’m going to pass out if you keep going.”

He looks up at me, his eyes hot and steady. “I won’t let you fall.”

My throat tightens. It feels like he’s talking about more than sex for some reason. I take my leg off his shoulder and manage to stand on wobbly feet. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I crouch down until I can look into his eyes without him having to look up. His chin glistens, but it doesn’t look messy. It just looks like the most natural display of need.

I take off my shirt and wipe his jaw. “Is this how we’re celebrating our victory?”

“Why the hell not? We both won.” His smile lances my heart. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s exciting and scary at the same time.

“We did.” I reach down and take his cock in my hand. He lets out a hissing breath, his eyes narrowed. There’s so much power leashed inside him, his shaft pulsing in my hand like a beating heart. I let go. “On your feet.”

He rises, the movement unhurried and graceful. I’m on my knees, and his cock juts out at eye level, the tip dripping. As a rule I like my sex tidy and neat, but with this man, it doesn’t seem to matter. His raw reaction to me—my body, my nearness, my pleasure and need—makes me want to give him the same thing.

I can’t quite wrap my hand around the base of his immensely swollen shaft. Veins stand out, pulsing. Holding him, I pull the tip of his cock into my mouth, taste the salt and male, and draw him in deeper. He’s so big, it’s difficult to take him in. I raise my eyes, watching his reaction, and try to loosen my jaw to take more. His cheeks are flushed, his mouth parted. His gaze is fixed on me. I hollow my cheeks, and a low groan rumbles in his chest.

Emboldened, I grab his butt, digging my nails into the granite-hard muscle as I use my mouth on him. My eyes on his, I run my fingers along his upper thighs, then cup his balls lightly. I glide my tongue along the entire throbbing shaft, tracing the thick veins, before licking the precum off his cockhead. He reacts to every touch like I’m torturing him—and he’s enjoying the hell of it.

He was like an unstoppable machine, forcing orgasms on me until I thought my brain would melt. But I tease him, loving the feel of him in my mouth, the slick taste of him on my tongue.

His breathing gets rougher. My hair spills forward, and he gathers it and loops it around his fist. I raise my eyes, and he’s looking down at me, all helpless greed. “I’m not missing a second of this,” he says between shallow breaths.

His pelvis moves shallowly, thrusting him into my mouth. I increase the pressure of the suction and let him use me for his pleasure. The sight of his slipping control makes the flesh between my legs tingle. Slippery fluid pools in my most sensitive part, and I bring my thighs together to ease the ache. This isn’t about me, but him.

But I love what I’m doing to him, how good I’m making him feel—the way he looks at me like I’m a miracle. The sound he makes is louder, and the muscles of his lean abs and legs tighten until they’re like marble. Air saws in and out of his lungs, and his hold on my hair gets firmer, making my scalp tingle. I dip my head as much as I can, letting him hit the back of my throat, wanting him to lose himself in a mind-shattering climax like I did.

Abruptly, he pulls out with a harsh groan. Hot white liquid hits my cleavage, splatters onto my cheeks and chin and drips down my chest. The finale leaves me a little stunned, since I’ve never experienced it before. But he looks at me like he couldn’t be more satisfied. His eyes scream, Mine. Then he’s on me like he hasn’t just come, kissing me like he’s out of his mind with lust.

I kiss him back. He rips at my bra. I wriggle to help him get rid of it. He runs his hand along the mark the elastic band left around my torso, then cups my breast. I arch into his hot palm. His thumb caresses me around the nipple, and I move restlessly against him, wrapping my legs around his hips.

“Sebastian, please…”

A sound that’s somewhere between laugh and groan rolls through him, and his mouth closes over my nipple. The pleasure sears my senses, and a moan catches in my throat.

I clutch him, pressing my breast into his face. He hollows his cheeks, and I shudder as my whole body throbs. He puts his arms under my back and picks me up, his lips still on my nipple.

The change in the position puts me flush against him, and I gasp at the feel of his erection pressing against me. So soon? It’s like he might have not come at all.

He kicks the door open and carries me down the hall to his room. He lays me on the bed, and I’m enveloped in his scent.

His hands stroke my breasts, his mouth kissing me everywhere. The fact that half my torso is covered in his cum seems to drive him wild. He dips his fingers under my skirt; I close my eyes and let myself enjoy the fire he’s stoking again with his touch.

He fumbles around the nightstand, then pulls out a foil packet. He tears it impatiently and rolls the rubber down his already fully erect shaft. I lick my lips, wondering what he’s going to feel like.

He wraps his hands around my ankles and pushes my legs up and apart. I’m totally, utterly helpless in this position, but instead of anxiety, my heart pumps with thrill.

“I’ve been thinking about doing this since I saw you stretching in the gym.” His eyes are narrowed. “Maybe before.”

“Take what you want.”

Those four words ignite a fire in his eyes. He drives into me, his enormous cock stretching me, filling me. I cry out as he rubs against my G-spot. My vision turns hazy, and I grip him hard, digging my fingers into the muscles around his shoulders.

He breathes hard, his eyes glazed. His mouth claims mine, and he pounds into me with enough force to jar my whole body. But I welcome the blatant show of need. It drives me crazy. And I’m so wet, the punishment is simply bliss.

Pleasure spirals out of control. I’m like an animal in heat, and he takes me until I climax again—and again—and again—and I’m a complete mess.

When he finally comes, his groan muffled against my mouth, I hold him like he’s the only sane thing left in a world of madness.